Memorabilia, Agents of SHIELD, Gen
Title: Memorabilia
Fandom: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Rating: PG
Words: 2,030
Characters: Phil Coulson, Antoine Triplett
Summary: Coulson tells Triplett about the time Nick Fury destroyed his Captain America collectible cards For Freedom.
Notes: For Spiderfire's NotPrimeTime prompt - What happens when Coulson finds out that Fury wrecked his Captain America cards. This was supposed to be funny but somehow all this emotional stuff happened. Oops.
Disclaimer: Marvel and ABC own everyone here - I’m just meddling in these characters’ lives.
It was a little past midnight. Or at least, it was a little past midnight in the time zone Phil had woken up in. The actual time in the airspace the Bus currently occupied? He had no idea. His body told him that it was a little past midnight and that he should be asleep, but his brain refused. So here he lay, staring at the blank, beige ceiling to avoid the images waiting for him if he closed his eyes.
Phil sighed and rolled onto his side. His eye was caught by a flash of light. Blue, faint, but definitely out of place in this cabin he knew like the back of his hand. It pulsed again, there, on his collectibles shelf. He squinted, wishing briefly that Fury had fixed his mild myopia as part of the T.A.H.I.T.I. resurrection. Really, all that invasive brain rewiring and alien fluids and they couldn’t throw in a little LASIK?
The light flashed again, more of a pulse: bright, then fading. It wasn’t an actual light, he realized, but a reflection on the glass encasing his 1948 Smoke Signal, a cigarette case with a hidden homing beacon and micro-broadcaster. Intrigued, he threw off the covers and made his way to the display shelves.
A little basic physics - angles of reflection and all that - and he had it. It was the power supply of his new laptop, some store-bought thing that Skye had picked up to replace their S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. Those computers were now a pile of melted plastic and rare metals thanks to a little thermite whipped up by Simmons and Trip. Good riddance to bad, Hydra-infested rubbish.
The new laptop was a boring black box, sleek in its own way but nowhere near as powerful as his S.H.I.E.L.D. tablet, nor as cool as the classic S.H.I.E.L.D. tech on his shelves. It was, in Skye's words, "cheap and cheerful" but mostly it was just functional. No style, no pizazz.
Phil was more than willing to admit he had a weakness for pizazz. In truth, he was a sucker for flair, for panache, for that quirk of an eyebrow that said "I got style, baby," especially when it was part of a highly functional package. It was as true of people - Skye, Triplett - as it was for gadgets.
Sadly, this dull, generic computer was the opposite of pizazz. It was also in the wrong place - he had promised Skye he would leave it in the science workshop so she could do something hacker-y to it in the morning. Might as well take it down now, he thought. Perhaps brew a cup of Melinda's herbal sleep aid on the way back up.
The lights of the workshop were glinting off of Lola's chrome as Phil trotted down the spiral stairs. He resisted the momentary urge to shift the laptop to his left hand, to unholster the gun he wasn't wearing. The stress of recent events made it hard to feel safe, even in a secure plane in a secure hanger in a secure base. He wondered how long it would be before Garrett and Ward's betrayal stopped affecting his every action. The thought lingered with Phil as he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Trip.
The young agent was standing by the central table, his grandfather's case open before him. His expression was somber as he stared down at the 40's era technology. As Phil watched, Trip reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out out a small silver object. He held it up on a flattened palm, examining it closely, and the muscles of his jaw tightened.
Unable to watch the other man's pain, Phil activated the door release.
Trip turned abruptly, his hand nearly closing on the device. Stepping closer, Phil could see it was one of the EMP joy buzzers that Skye had used to short out their motel room near Costa Mesa.
“Gearing up for something?” he asked, setting the laptop down on the workbench.
Trip shook his head. “Just putting this away.” He carefully placed the gadget into its slot in the case. “Got it from Koenig. He found it when he was clearing the plane.”
The base's guardian had insisted on searching, clearing, and restoring the Bus. He said it was for security reasons, but Phil felt it was also an act of kindness. Thanks to Koenig, all reminders of Hydra's occupation were gone when the team moved back in for their first mission.
“This is what he used on Garrett,” Trip said. “Jemma said he was cool as a cucumber when he did it. Just zapped the guy right there in front of Ward and all those Hydra soldiers. Crazy little dude.” His smile held both pride and sadness.
“Koenig found it with Ward's stuff, you know. Creepy fucker.” Trip spat the words bitterly. “He also found this,” he reached into his pocket again and pulled out a quarter, “in Skye's miscellaneous money jar, in there with her reals and yen and dinar and centavo.”
Phil smiled gently at Trip but said nothing.
“You know I gave this to him?” The younger agent held up the coin. “It was kind of a joke, but it was also a deal - we'd both take a locater beacon so we didn't lose anyone.” Trip huffed a laugh, but his dark eyes were angry. “Then he went and got lost anyway. If he hadn't left this on the plane, we would have found them faster and he wouldn't be...”
“If he hadn't left it on the plane, we never would have stopped Garrett,” Phil pointed out gently. “And Fitz found a way to send a signal anyway.”
Trip tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I suppose he did. And he basically saved the world with a couple pieces of seventy year old tech.” His long fingers tightened around the coin.
“You know,” Phil said conversationally, leaning against the workbench. “That beacon isn't just a beacon any more.”
“It's not?” he asked, opening his hand again.
“It's a symbol. An emblem.”
Trip turned to face him, one eyebrow quirking up. “An emblem,” he repeated. “And here I thought it was complicated enough when it was both a quarter and a locater.”
“Objects have layers, Trip. You know this.” Phil gestured to the trunk full of hair-dryer hypobeams, laser cigarettes, and microfilm camera matchboxes. “That coin is more than just a gadget out of history now. It means more.”
Trip looked down at the silver disc shining against his dark skin. He nodded. “These are my grandfather's legacy. I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because he was my hero, you know.”
“I assumed as much. And he'd be really, really proud of you. But that's not what I meant.”
Phil took a deep breath. “Have I told you about the time that Nick Fury sacrificed my Captain America collector's cards to save the world?”
The confusion on Trip's normally confident face was beautiful.
“Those ones in your office?” Trip asked. “The ones with the...”
Phil winced. “Yeah, those ones. It's a story that goes back to the Battle of New York. Y'know, when I died a little.”
Trip's smile was a reward. Phil grinned back and settled in to the story.
“Anyway, I was up there on the Helicarrier with a bunch of legends, superheroes, and honest to God, well, gods. It was crazy, and the best part was that Captain America was there.” Phil paused to enjoy the memory. “He was my hero growing up. I mean, I had books and action figures and absolutely all the cards when I was growing up. And then he was right there, on our team.
“Now, I have to admit that I kind of acted like a fanboy. I even brought my best set of Cap cards onto the Carrier with me,” he admitted, turning away from Trip. “I don't know what I was thinking - like, would he sign them or something? Who knows. It was just amazing to know they were there, and he was there.” Phil risked a glance at Trip.
There was a look of understanding in the young man's face. “My grandpa didn't talk much about the war, but it didn't matter, so long as I could sit with him and have him show me this stuff. Now I look at these to remember him.”
“Yeah, that's kind of what I was going for,” Phil said, “but it didn't really work out that way.”
“You mean when you...”
“Yeah, the dying and all wasn't part of the plan,” he admitted. “But I came back, and so did my Captain America trading cards.”
“They saved your cards when the Helicarrier crashed?” Trip's surprise was almost comical.
“Well, yeah,” Phil said. “Because they were a symbol, as it turns out.” He shook his head. “Let me tell you a little story.
“Nick Fury called me into his office when I returned from T.A.H.I.T.I. and he told me an amazing story, of gods and humans and monsters and Tony Stark all banding together to save the world from that smarmy bastard who tried to kill me - okay, did kill me, but he left that part out.
“Anyway, Nick handed me an envelope from his safe. I opened it, thinking 'medal' or maybe a nice thank you note from the president. Instead I found my formerly mint condition Captain America cards, charred around the edges and smeared with blood.”
Trip's eyes widened. Phil nodded.
“I didn't know what to think. I mean, yay! Fury had saved the pride of my collection. Then again, what? why was Fury saving my cards? And at the same time... the cards had been in my bunk, in an album, in protective sleeves. I may have been a little hazy from my “tropical vacation,” but I wasn't completely out of it. Someone had violated my cards. So yay! quickly turned into what the hell?”
Trip chuckled. “I get you, man. If anyone messed with Grandpa's stuff, their butt would be having a conversation with the toe of my boot.”
“Exactly. I may have said something similar. Fury didn't care, of course. Means to an end, he said. Those cards, those poor bloodied cards, had been instrumental in uniting everyone, changing them from a bunch of bickering misfits into the Avengers, the team that would save the world. The cards were a symbol.”
“Wow,” Trip seemed suitably awed. “Cool.”
“Yeah,” Phil agreed. “Cool. That's why I have them on display. Sure, I could look at them as a set of priceless collectibles, the pride of my collection, destroyed by smears of blood that I'm pretty damn sure isn't mine. But I know that those cards really are a symbol of the strength and determination that saved the earth and all of humanity. That makes me feel a lot less grumpy.”
Trip smiled widely, and then glanced down at the locater beacon. “Objects with layers, huh?”
“Yup,” Phil smiled back. “Lots of layers. I figure when you look at that locater, you don't just see a bit of technology. You don't just see an heirloom of your grandfather's legacy. You also see a reminder of Fitz and everything he did. You also see a symbol of the ingenuity and bravery of your teammates, and of the commitment you have to keeping your friends safe.”
“Could be,” Trip agreed. He passed the coin from hand to hand for a few moments. “I think Grandpa would be really impressed with what Fitz did. I know I am.”
“He's a pretty impressive kid,” Phil pointed out. “So are you, you know.”
“Thanks,” Trip glanced away. Placing the locater on the table top, he began to close the trunk.
“Not going to store that one away?” Phil asked gently.
“No, I think I might hold on to it,” Trip said. He picked up the trunk and stowed it beneath the bench. Standing, he quirked an eyebrow upwards and smiled. “It's an important symbol, after all.”
Fandom: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Rating: PG
Words: 2,030
Characters: Phil Coulson, Antoine Triplett
Summary: Coulson tells Triplett about the time Nick Fury destroyed his Captain America collectible cards For Freedom.
Notes: For Spiderfire's NotPrimeTime prompt - What happens when Coulson finds out that Fury wrecked his Captain America cards. This was supposed to be funny but somehow all this emotional stuff happened. Oops.
Disclaimer: Marvel and ABC own everyone here - I’m just meddling in these characters’ lives.
It was a little past midnight. Or at least, it was a little past midnight in the time zone Phil had woken up in. The actual time in the airspace the Bus currently occupied? He had no idea. His body told him that it was a little past midnight and that he should be asleep, but his brain refused. So here he lay, staring at the blank, beige ceiling to avoid the images waiting for him if he closed his eyes.
Phil sighed and rolled onto his side. His eye was caught by a flash of light. Blue, faint, but definitely out of place in this cabin he knew like the back of his hand. It pulsed again, there, on his collectibles shelf. He squinted, wishing briefly that Fury had fixed his mild myopia as part of the T.A.H.I.T.I. resurrection. Really, all that invasive brain rewiring and alien fluids and they couldn’t throw in a little LASIK?
The light flashed again, more of a pulse: bright, then fading. It wasn’t an actual light, he realized, but a reflection on the glass encasing his 1948 Smoke Signal, a cigarette case with a hidden homing beacon and micro-broadcaster. Intrigued, he threw off the covers and made his way to the display shelves.
A little basic physics - angles of reflection and all that - and he had it. It was the power supply of his new laptop, some store-bought thing that Skye had picked up to replace their S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. Those computers were now a pile of melted plastic and rare metals thanks to a little thermite whipped up by Simmons and Trip. Good riddance to bad, Hydra-infested rubbish.
The new laptop was a boring black box, sleek in its own way but nowhere near as powerful as his S.H.I.E.L.D. tablet, nor as cool as the classic S.H.I.E.L.D. tech on his shelves. It was, in Skye's words, "cheap and cheerful" but mostly it was just functional. No style, no pizazz.
Phil was more than willing to admit he had a weakness for pizazz. In truth, he was a sucker for flair, for panache, for that quirk of an eyebrow that said "I got style, baby," especially when it was part of a highly functional package. It was as true of people - Skye, Triplett - as it was for gadgets.
Sadly, this dull, generic computer was the opposite of pizazz. It was also in the wrong place - he had promised Skye he would leave it in the science workshop so she could do something hacker-y to it in the morning. Might as well take it down now, he thought. Perhaps brew a cup of Melinda's herbal sleep aid on the way back up.
The lights of the workshop were glinting off of Lola's chrome as Phil trotted down the spiral stairs. He resisted the momentary urge to shift the laptop to his left hand, to unholster the gun he wasn't wearing. The stress of recent events made it hard to feel safe, even in a secure plane in a secure hanger in a secure base. He wondered how long it would be before Garrett and Ward's betrayal stopped affecting his every action. The thought lingered with Phil as he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Trip.
The young agent was standing by the central table, his grandfather's case open before him. His expression was somber as he stared down at the 40's era technology. As Phil watched, Trip reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out out a small silver object. He held it up on a flattened palm, examining it closely, and the muscles of his jaw tightened.
Unable to watch the other man's pain, Phil activated the door release.
Trip turned abruptly, his hand nearly closing on the device. Stepping closer, Phil could see it was one of the EMP joy buzzers that Skye had used to short out their motel room near Costa Mesa.
“Gearing up for something?” he asked, setting the laptop down on the workbench.
Trip shook his head. “Just putting this away.” He carefully placed the gadget into its slot in the case. “Got it from Koenig. He found it when he was clearing the plane.”
The base's guardian had insisted on searching, clearing, and restoring the Bus. He said it was for security reasons, but Phil felt it was also an act of kindness. Thanks to Koenig, all reminders of Hydra's occupation were gone when the team moved back in for their first mission.
“This is what he used on Garrett,” Trip said. “Jemma said he was cool as a cucumber when he did it. Just zapped the guy right there in front of Ward and all those Hydra soldiers. Crazy little dude.” His smile held both pride and sadness.
“Koenig found it with Ward's stuff, you know. Creepy fucker.” Trip spat the words bitterly. “He also found this,” he reached into his pocket again and pulled out a quarter, “in Skye's miscellaneous money jar, in there with her reals and yen and dinar and centavo.”
Phil smiled gently at Trip but said nothing.
“You know I gave this to him?” The younger agent held up the coin. “It was kind of a joke, but it was also a deal - we'd both take a locater beacon so we didn't lose anyone.” Trip huffed a laugh, but his dark eyes were angry. “Then he went and got lost anyway. If he hadn't left this on the plane, we would have found them faster and he wouldn't be...”
“If he hadn't left it on the plane, we never would have stopped Garrett,” Phil pointed out gently. “And Fitz found a way to send a signal anyway.”
Trip tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I suppose he did. And he basically saved the world with a couple pieces of seventy year old tech.” His long fingers tightened around the coin.
“You know,” Phil said conversationally, leaning against the workbench. “That beacon isn't just a beacon any more.”
“It's not?” he asked, opening his hand again.
“It's a symbol. An emblem.”
Trip turned to face him, one eyebrow quirking up. “An emblem,” he repeated. “And here I thought it was complicated enough when it was both a quarter and a locater.”
“Objects have layers, Trip. You know this.” Phil gestured to the trunk full of hair-dryer hypobeams, laser cigarettes, and microfilm camera matchboxes. “That coin is more than just a gadget out of history now. It means more.”
Trip looked down at the silver disc shining against his dark skin. He nodded. “These are my grandfather's legacy. I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because he was my hero, you know.”
“I assumed as much. And he'd be really, really proud of you. But that's not what I meant.”
Phil took a deep breath. “Have I told you about the time that Nick Fury sacrificed my Captain America collector's cards to save the world?”
The confusion on Trip's normally confident face was beautiful.
“Those ones in your office?” Trip asked. “The ones with the...”
Phil winced. “Yeah, those ones. It's a story that goes back to the Battle of New York. Y'know, when I died a little.”
Trip's smile was a reward. Phil grinned back and settled in to the story.
“Anyway, I was up there on the Helicarrier with a bunch of legends, superheroes, and honest to God, well, gods. It was crazy, and the best part was that Captain America was there.” Phil paused to enjoy the memory. “He was my hero growing up. I mean, I had books and action figures and absolutely all the cards when I was growing up. And then he was right there, on our team.
“Now, I have to admit that I kind of acted like a fanboy. I even brought my best set of Cap cards onto the Carrier with me,” he admitted, turning away from Trip. “I don't know what I was thinking - like, would he sign them or something? Who knows. It was just amazing to know they were there, and he was there.” Phil risked a glance at Trip.
There was a look of understanding in the young man's face. “My grandpa didn't talk much about the war, but it didn't matter, so long as I could sit with him and have him show me this stuff. Now I look at these to remember him.”
“Yeah, that's kind of what I was going for,” Phil said, “but it didn't really work out that way.”
“You mean when you...”
“Yeah, the dying and all wasn't part of the plan,” he admitted. “But I came back, and so did my Captain America trading cards.”
“They saved your cards when the Helicarrier crashed?” Trip's surprise was almost comical.
“Well, yeah,” Phil said. “Because they were a symbol, as it turns out.” He shook his head. “Let me tell you a little story.
“Nick Fury called me into his office when I returned from T.A.H.I.T.I. and he told me an amazing story, of gods and humans and monsters and Tony Stark all banding together to save the world from that smarmy bastard who tried to kill me - okay, did kill me, but he left that part out.
“Anyway, Nick handed me an envelope from his safe. I opened it, thinking 'medal' or maybe a nice thank you note from the president. Instead I found my formerly mint condition Captain America cards, charred around the edges and smeared with blood.”
Trip's eyes widened. Phil nodded.
“I didn't know what to think. I mean, yay! Fury had saved the pride of my collection. Then again, what? why was Fury saving my cards? And at the same time... the cards had been in my bunk, in an album, in protective sleeves. I may have been a little hazy from my “tropical vacation,” but I wasn't completely out of it. Someone had violated my cards. So yay! quickly turned into what the hell?”
Trip chuckled. “I get you, man. If anyone messed with Grandpa's stuff, their butt would be having a conversation with the toe of my boot.”
“Exactly. I may have said something similar. Fury didn't care, of course. Means to an end, he said. Those cards, those poor bloodied cards, had been instrumental in uniting everyone, changing them from a bunch of bickering misfits into the Avengers, the team that would save the world. The cards were a symbol.”
“Wow,” Trip seemed suitably awed. “Cool.”
“Yeah,” Phil agreed. “Cool. That's why I have them on display. Sure, I could look at them as a set of priceless collectibles, the pride of my collection, destroyed by smears of blood that I'm pretty damn sure isn't mine. But I know that those cards really are a symbol of the strength and determination that saved the earth and all of humanity. That makes me feel a lot less grumpy.”
Trip smiled widely, and then glanced down at the locater beacon. “Objects with layers, huh?”
“Yup,” Phil smiled back. “Lots of layers. I figure when you look at that locater, you don't just see a bit of technology. You don't just see an heirloom of your grandfather's legacy. You also see a reminder of Fitz and everything he did. You also see a symbol of the ingenuity and bravery of your teammates, and of the commitment you have to keeping your friends safe.”
“Could be,” Trip agreed. He passed the coin from hand to hand for a few moments. “I think Grandpa would be really impressed with what Fitz did. I know I am.”
“He's a pretty impressive kid,” Phil pointed out. “So are you, you know.”
“Thanks,” Trip glanced away. Placing the locater on the table top, he began to close the trunk.
“Not going to store that one away?” Phil asked gently.
“No, I think I might hold on to it,” Trip said. He picked up the trunk and stowed it beneath the bench. Standing, he quirked an eyebrow upwards and smiled. “It's an important symbol, after all.”